


your will

by Xorxos Brook (cdra)



Category: Pandora Hearts
Genre: Drugs, Dubious Consent, M/M, Yandere
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-20
Updated: 2015-04-20
Packaged: 2018-06-08 00:13:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,567
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6831043
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cdra/pseuds/Xorxos%20Brook
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Xerxes can’t tell if the smile that steadily forms on those smooth lips is more devious or gentle, but the cross-section of those things on Reim’s face is only making him feel ill.</p>
            </blockquote>





	your will

**Author's Note:**

> Nothing I touch can remain pure ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯ sorry mister reim

For all the fighting he can do, all the hurt and destruction he’s ever caused, he can’t so much as struggle against this person’s will.  He should,  _ god  _ he should, but as he’s forced against a wall by strong hands and a sturdy body he can only freeze in shock, trapped by his unease but unable to so much as vocalize it before Reim’s kissing him  _ hard  _ and distracting his confused senses all the more.

There’s something looping tight around his wrists as they’re pressed together behind his back and a convolution of panic is spiking through his system; he’s not sure what’s happening, he’s not sure he can do anything about it, he’s afraid and a little  _ excited _ but mostly, he’s beginning to struggle, even if it’s in the smallest way, wriggling to try to escape the younger’s tight embrace. In response he’s only held more tightly; his hands are bound now, leaving Reim’s free to press their bodies together, compounding more anticipation into the nonsensical cocktail of feelings in Xerxes’s head.

He catches a break from the kiss in order to breathe, gasping with his eye open wide, not quite willing to look at the situation at hand even as Reim’s oddly measured breaths fall onto his lips.  Fingers take his chin and his gaze focuses; for a moment, his throat clenches up, not allowing air through, upon seeing those almond eyes so calm and unfocused.  Something’s very wrong—there should be a warm and bright light in that hazel hue, but Xerxes can only see a dim void that threatens to swallow him up—and he shudders at the thought.

“Mr. Reim…?” he wonders, as though that silly faux-politeness is worth anything at all, but there’s nothing, no real response, and each second without one is making his head spin faster; he can’t fight, but he can’t handle being trapped, something’s wrong, but he doesn’t understand it at all, he has to say something but his throat is so constricted—

He can’t tell if the smile that steadily forms on those smooth lips is more devious or gentle, but the cross-section of those things on Reim’s face is only making him feel ill.  Their lips meet again, this time with a gentle and shallow pressure, though they linger for a moment as Xerxes closes his eye, hoping that somehow the darkness inside his mind will help him understand.  The kiss breaks off, only for it to renewed with vigor after a short pause—his eye shoots open as something is forced into his throat and he gags, but strong fingers are threaded into his hair and holding his head back, implying that he can’t be rid of it as he realizes it’s something sweet, but a pleasant taste won’t make the conflict in his head die down.

Reim’s tongue rolls the candy over his, steady and sure despite how he isn’t kissing back; though he has an ill feeling about it Xerxes can’t help but swallow their combined saliva when he’s a chance to breathe again, though not without sputtering a bit, either.  He wants to ask why, what’re you doing, wants to plead with him to stop, but he can’t catch a moment to form words, much less the willpower to do something like  _ pleading _ .  Between his confusion and his unease and the touches and the kisses and the awful look on Reim’s face and the sweet taste in his mouth, Xerxes feels that he may be drowning.

He’s forced to swallow again and he notes a certain warm numbness creeping down his spine; everything’s wrong, completely upside-down, and that feeling is just another small thing, but it’s starting to get stronger now, pushing aside the awful sensations in his gut.  He slides downward, his legs growing weak underneath him, and Reim permits it, kneeling with him as he all but collapses, shaking as he gazes upward at nothing at all.

“...That’s good,” he finally speaks and it snatches Xerxes’s scattered attention immediately, “I was afraid that might not work… since you don’t get drunk, and all.”  Such calm words, answering questions he hadn’t quite thought through, make the hair on his neck raise up all the more—wrong, it’s so awfully wrong for the other to be so at ease, smiling that  _ weird _ smile that really would make more sense on him than on Reim.

“What… are…?” he can’t quite form a sensible question still, especially as his head starts to feel numb at the back where Reim is holding it; he should struggle, he should fight, this is bad, very bad, completely wrong, but his body is stiff and still and even now Xerxes can’t will himself to so much as  _ attempt  _ to resist this person’s wishes, no matter how warped it may seem.

“Don’t worry about it,” it seems like it’d be awfully easy to just listen to that suggestion, but he can’t, he has to  _ do something _ ; “I won’t hurt you, you know that—so don’t worry about it.”  What a simple assurance—strictly true, most likely, but overly simple, for something inside him is already starting to  _ hurt _ , though he isn’t certain that that’s the word he’d attach to it—he seems to only be growing less certain of  _ anything _ , somehow, but really, it’s also getting harder to worry about that.

His mouth’s open to try to ask another question, but he can’t seem to put any words together at all, especially in the face of that pleased and warped smile on Reim’s lips as he caresses his pale jaw with a thumb; he’s still shaking a bit, panting uneasily—why?  Whatever Reim’s done to him—that numb warmth is spreading through his body, forcing him to relax—when their lips meet again, he finds himself kissing back, dimly noticing that there’s still something sweet in his mouth, though it’s grown much smaller now.

Xerxes shivers as a large hand slides down his back, holding his body close to the other’s; it’s warm, it feels  _ nice _ , and there’s a disconcerting desire to just grab hold of Reim and bring him even  _ closer  _ if that’s possible—he can’t act on that, with his hands bound, and he’s a bit glad for that, somehow.  It’s wrong, still—everything about this, he doesn’t understand—but amid the conflict, the side of him that wants to just give in and maybe even enjoy it is winning out, with the assistance of the substance in his blood.

The kiss breaks off and they’re both gasping, Reim’s smiling and it still doesn’t reach his eyes, Xerxes is caught up just remembering how to breathe.  “There, see?” he all but whispers, placing another small kiss against pale lips, “Just relax—I’ve got you.”  This time, Xerxes listens and follows along, slumping back against the wall and into strong arms; his head’s too fuzzy and his body’s too weak to do much else, and it seems much easier not to keep wondering  _ why  _ this is happening and just let it  _ happen _ .

Fingers are creeping up his shirt, undoing buttons slowly, attentively, as Xerxes takes shaky breaths, desperately clinging to the slightest fragment of awareness—it’s not even control anymore, or an ability to fight back, but merely the awareness that something is wrong, that whatever this is there’s something disgusting and warped about it.  Maybe that’s fine—surely it’d be his fault, after all, if Reim became distorted like this around him, from how broken and twisted up he is, so it’s only natural for him to pay the price for it.

Yes, realizing that, there’s certainly no reason to question it.  The last vestiges of confused tension slip out of his muscles as Reim kisses his exposed collarbone; he should be worried about his skin showing, particularly as fingers trace over the seal on his heart, but Xerxes simply tilts his chin back to allow his partner free reign over even his delicate neck.  It’d be easy to drown completely in this, he thinks, but if he allows himself to sink, he won’t be able to taste the bitter self-loathing on the tip of his tongue, won’t be suffering for whatever corruption of his has seeped into the precious existence that’s touching him--a small moan manages its way from his throat and Reim pauses, raising his body to make their gazes meet.  He should be a bit humiliated, he thinks, by the idea that his unrestrained expression has been seen, but he can only seem to be caught up in the other’s eyes, adoring and gentle, still too dim to be Reim’s.

His hands are still playing over pale skin, lighting up dulled nerves as he watches Xerxes gasp and shiver a bit to each touch; he’s not sure where he’s being touched anymore, only that the sensation of it is awfully strong against the static in his head and that the other has pressed himself between the albino’s legs and that their bodies are so mind-numbingly  _ close _ .  “Rei--m--” he barely creaks out, stumbling over the sound, unsure what he even means to say with it except to affirm that it’s still him.

Reim just hums a small affirmation and kisses him again, and he lets himself sink into it, lets himself slip into the dull and warm and sweet feeling, unable to hold on to even his deep-set bitterness against Reim’s will.


End file.
